


Processing

by Eonneo



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feel-good, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Miscommunication, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 22:47:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21656800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eonneo/pseuds/Eonneo
Summary: As the march of progress moves forward, the role of androids prominent and important to humanity, a human named Cypress wonders if she can march alongside after losing her job to an android. She questions if it's okay to join the march, accepting the positive role androids play in society, all the things they can do to improve human life, or if she should simply ignore it in hopes that she will find her place without them. As her life begins to intermingle with both humans and androids alike, she becomes tasked to either grow with herself and those around her, or be left behind.After an unnerving trip to the Eden club, Cypress finds herself at an art gallery where she meets an intriguing elderly man.
Relationships: Original Android Character(s) (Detroit: Become Human)/Original Human Character(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 3





	Processing

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, I've wanted to do this since I first watched Detroit: Become Human. The writing style will be first person, with original characters mixed in with actual game characters. I have this whole thing plotted out for the most part, and know where it will go, but I have no set time or word limit for completion. I have spent a lot of time re-reading this, trying to make it perfect, and overall am very proud and happy with the first chapter.  
> I plan to explore, in this fic, the complexity of human relationships and emotions and how well an android might be able to adapt to those - a bit similar to Connor's story, but with my own twist.  
> I really look forward to writing this and hope you all will join with me. We're gonna' have fluff, we're gonna' have smut, we're gonna' have sadness. We're gonna' have it all. If you like a bit of angstyness, some edgyness, and a bit of catering to a sad character (some cliches, yes, but shhhh!) then hop right on the train!

I walked up the street, briskly, the cold wind nipping at my cheeks, a scarf dressing my mouth and nose. Pedestrians and a few androids bustled past me, and I kept moving, my eyes and mind focused on my destination. I had just exited the bus, trying to keep a few blocks from the Eden club so I didn't seem too low of a person. But I knew that nobody was noticing. Nobody noticed anything that I did, and that was why I was even making this trip.  
A few more blocks, and there stood the small, neon sign for the club, the building sleek against the street corner. I knew it had no cameras, too, and that was a relief. Whatever happened in there could just stay within its pretty walls. Or so, I hoped it could, praying that the utter guilt and disappointment of what I was going to do wouldn't haunt me down the road. It was a bad sign, though, that I already felt haunted, and I hadn't even done anything.  
As I entered the lobby, six caged androids staring at me through shiny glass, and I pushed my scarf down off my face. I wasn't surprised that the inside was warm. The lights were neon, just like the outdoor sign, and dim, hiding the few faces of the other clients as they went to and from the back rooms. The owner sat in a corner, surveying his business, making quick eye contact with me. I looked away, and he left me alone. I had never been here, but I knew what to do.  
In the center of the building were some fancy looking stages with poles from top to bottom, androids minimally dancing upon them, scantily dressed. Their faces seemed almost indifferent to what they were doing, and I felt a ping of guilt for being there. I mean, this was what they were built for. Programmed for. They didn't mind, did they? As I let the thoughts swirl in my already tormented mind, I tried to ignore it, focusing on making myself feel better.  
I perused the walls, draping my coat over my shoulder, taking in the male-model androids. They were on display, like toys or outfits in the windows at the shopping mall. It was almost degrading.  
_No, it's not. They're androids. No more alive than the toys or clothes._ With the half-assed attempt at convincing, I found the model that looked the most attractive to me. I stared at its eyes, and it stared back, and that feeling returned almost immediately. Of pathetic, decaying guilt. I was so uncomfortable by it.  
I knew nothing about the actual model itself and really didn't care. It would hopefully do what I needed, and again, I pushed off my anxiety, though wondered how long I could manage that.  
I fiddled with the touch screen at the side, opting for the 30 minute package for $30. A dollar a minute; I was curious how such complex machinery was profitable at such low prices.  
“ _Eden club wishes you a pleasant experience,_ ” spoke the clear female voice of the touch panel.  
The android stepped out. It was built tall, a bit cut and overall looked like an admirable body. It was bare, no clothes aside from black boxers on its hips. It tilted its head at me and smiled.  
“Pleasure to meet you. Follow me to the private room.”  
I inhaled, sharply, looking around to see if any judging eyes burned into me. But none did, and really, why would they? Anybody there was likely in the same situation as me.  
The android began to walk, and so I followed, arms tight at my sides, clenching my teeth. This was really pathetic, so desperate that I was willing to pay a robot for attention. But I put it aside; this was the future. This was the glory of it, what humanity had worked so hard for.  
We went into the room, the door sliding open, then closed, entombing me with my nerves. Inside was basic. A bed in the center, some shiny walls and floor. It did exactly what it needed to, setting a romantic mood, but not too overwhelming to distract.  
The android turned to me, again smiling, slowly stepping to me. I dropped my coat, instinctively, and tensed.  
The android stopped, arms at my sides but not touching me.  
“Are you okay?” it asked.  
I twisted my face in fear.  
“Uh...yeah,” I managed, looking up. Once I looked into its eyes, I felt that strange twinge of guilt, as if I were using the android in some disgusting manner, against its will. _Do they have wills?_ I questioned internally.  
“You,” I began, crossing my arms and covering myself. “Are you...okay with this?”  
The android seemed confused at this, tilting its head.  
“Of course. This is my programming.”  
“Right,” I trailed. It was just a robot. No feelings. Nothing like myself, or any human. Right.  
With that, the android placed its hands on my hips, pulling me towards it. For what most people described as plastic, its body was warm. I had never been so close to an android, never having had one of my own or knowing anyone to have one. I only knew them from being out in public; stores and the streets.  
I stepped back, shaking my head, trying to rid myself of the negativity that swarmed me. I then sighed, quickly stepping to the bed, sitting down. I let my head rest in the palms of my hands, rubbing my eyes. My feelings kept switching from wanting the feeling of pleasure, the touch of someone, to the other part that felt like garbage for it, guilty for using the machine for my desires.  
“Do you need a moment?” it questioned.  
“I can't do this.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“I can't do this. I'm sorry.”  
The android stood at the edge of the room, and I knew it was staring at me, even without looking. What was it thinking? Could it think and form opinions? Was the machine making fun of me?  
“Do you want to leave?”  
I sighed, heavy, letting my eyes wander to the side of the room, trying to process myself. Barely, I could see my reflection in the shiny metal walls, and I closed my eyes.  
“Just...maybe give me a minute.”  
I wanted to. I didn't. I wanted to. I didn't.  
I heard movement. The android walked towards the bed, standing next to me. It seemed as if it had something to say, mouth slightly open, looking down to my figure.  
“You...” it began, but then stopped.  
My curiosity immediately peaked, and I sat up.  
“Yeah?”  
“This isn't the place for you.”  
My face scrunched up in my own confusion.  
“What?”  
The android looked around the room, though there was nothing to look at, then shook its head.  
“Nothing. Would you like to leave?”  
I hadn't even been in there five minutes, but I was ready to go. This was a waste of time and money, and so I nodded, standing. The android said nothing, but picked my coat from the floor, handing it to me.  
“Thanks,” I muttered, stepping out of the room with the android behind me. The club's owner was still in his corner, and as I walked away, the android returning to its display, the owner came up to me. He seemed a bit awkward, but wasted no time.  
“You're leaving early. Were there any...issues?” he whispered, talking with his hands, moving them around the space in front of him.  
“N-no, sir. No issues at all. The android was more than willing to, uh, do its job. I just couldn't go through with it.” It felt shameful to say it.  
The man nodded.  
“You're not the first, but don't worry. The Eden club will be here for you when and if you need some time to yourself,” he assured me, and I thanked him, leaving, making no looks at the androids in the walls or entering patrons. I just wanted the experience behind me.  
Standing at the entrance, thoughts jumbled, I tried to think of something to entertain myself with. I couldn't be bothered to go home and endure the empty house just yet, and so I pondered. As the cold set in on my face, my eyes widened at remembering there was an art gallery event happening up town. I racked my brain for the address, and once it came to me, figured that it would be entertaining. It had been some time since I had let myself go to an art gallery. Really, it had been some time since I had been at _any_ social event. The people tend to ward me from it, but this time, I wanted people.  
So I hopped on the next bus up from the club and found my way to the gallery. It was already beginning to fill with an array of odd looking artists, with colored hair, vibrant outfits and loud personalities. I didn't recognize anyone there immediately, but I found myself welcomed and entertained.  
Inside was gaudy, fancy red ornamental wallpaper and painted ceilings. Upon the walls and on the floor were rows of sculptures, paintings and drawings, an array of subject matters present in all of them. Some of the artists' names I recognized, but a lot were lost. Some artists stood proudly by their works, beckoning anyone over who even breathed in their directions. Some people sat in the corners, quiet, watching, just like me.  
Towards the end of a row was a larger painting, done with layers of brush strokes in blue colors, a few warm spots of yellow decorating it. It appeared to be a crying face, though even with tears, the face appeared to have no emotion behind it, and for whatever reason, it captivated me. Why was the person crying? Could it be tears of joy, sadness, or anger? Or did they feel nothing, and could the tears be flowing for their ability to lose feeling? Did it mean anything at all? Why did I find myself trying to break down the piece?  
“I see you have good taste,” spoke the aged voice of a man. I jumped, though barely, and turned to see an older man in a wheelchair, his face weathered from the years, and a younger looking man holding on to the handle behind him. Upon inspection, I could see the blue LED, the trademark of an android. I had no idea the model, though the android looked to be not much older than me.  
“Is...this yours?” I asked, turning back to it, again taking in its beauty.  
“It is. I had been working on it for a few weeks but finished it just this evening. Markus here helped me drag it into this peep show.”  
I looked it over again, nodding as if I understood.  
“It's...a good piece. I like your use of cool colors.” I was trying hard to sound like I understood art, but I really didn't, even if it were my interest.  
“Thank you. I find that the smallest details,” he said, pointing to a small splotch of yellow, “can really bring out the pieces.”  
There was a moment of silence as the two of us took in the piece. Then the man gave a sharp inhale.  
“I'm Carl,” the man greeted, and he held out his hand.  
“Oh. I'm Cypress. It's great to meet you.”  
“Likewise.”  
Just as with most of my feelings that day, I couldn't figure it, but I moved my hand out to the android named Markus.  
“Nice to meet you, Markus,” I offered, though with a shaky voice, hoping Carl wouldn't find it odd.  
Markus seemed more off put than Carl, who had a hint of a smile on his face. Markus shook my hand, though.  
“Pleasure to meet you,” he trailed. His handshake was lighter than Carl's, with little force.  
“That's interesting,” Carl said. I was going to ask why, but was interrupted by a young male and female who found their way into the conversation, greeting Carl. He didn't seem too thrilled, but entertained them. I found it rude to stand by in a conversation I wasn't a part of, so I stepped away, deciding to look at the other pieces of art. I hoped some of them would inspire me to begin painting myself.  
I snacked on the hors d’oeuvres and slowly prepared myself to return home. I was beginning to tire, disappointed in myself for the Eden club and even further as I saw all the beautiful art the productive people of the city created. Why couldn't I do that anymore?  
I used to paint constantly. I shared my art in galleries. I visited galleries and went to art clubs and did so much. And it felt great. But I just didn't have it in me anymore.  
As I pondered on what a disappointment I had become to myself, I found myself torn from my thoughts, Carl being pushed next to me by Markus.  
“How have you been enjoying the show?”  
All I could really respond was with a quick shrug and a curt, “Fine.”  
Carl nodded.  
“I agree, it's not that great. Art is...subjective, and you can't really...come in here and say what's right or wrong, but most of these kids come here just to see if they're better than others. Nobody seems here to really _enjoy_ art.”  
“I suppose.” I didn't feel up to his deep considerations of the event.  
Carl seemed to see that I wasn't really into the aesthetic of the place, though, and changed pace.  
“I have an idea. Would you care to come back with Markus and I to my home?”  
I laughed, just a bit.  
“That sounds great. A young woman going to the house of an old man she just met.”  
Carl laughed too, but nodded.  
“It is a bit strange, isn't it? But look at me. I'm no more a threat than the floor.”  
I thought for a moment. A chance to stay out longer, to maybe make a friend. And if he _did_ kill me, well...what downside was there?  
There was a feeling of being watched, and I glanced to see Markus staring at me, almost as if he were intrigued. It was off putting, but I accepted Carl's offer to visit his house. He seemed enthused, and asked if I wanted to ride with him and Markus or drive myself. I sheepishly told him I had no car, and I'd go with them.  
Markus drove us. I had a bit of anxiety about an android driving, but he did well. Outside the car window and the streets passing, the first drips of wet snow began to drift down to the ground. Winter was here, and it was in full force, the weather freezing and the sky gray.  
Coming upon Carl's house, I saw it wasn't just a house, but a beautiful, large abode. It looked freshly painted, and even in the darkening evening, I could see how it was well cared for. This old man had nothing on me.  
I watched as Markus picked up Carl from the car seat and placed him in his wheel chair, marveling at his strength. I tried to imagine how much help Markus likely was to Carl, how far technology had come, but found myself losing the thought as I followed the two in.  
“Excuse the dust. I don't have guests often,” Carl lamented.  
The house looked pristine though, the foyer dressed with shiny tile, a zebra hide carpet and a regal staircase to the side. It was a house fitting of an artist.  
“Scotch?” Markus asked Carl.  
“That sound great.”  
They led me into the dining room. A taxidermed giraffe stood guard in a corner, and a whale skeleton hung over top the ornamental room. Books, plants, and the like decorated with them. It felt more like a showcase than a house. But still, it fit.  
“What could you like, Cypress?” Markus asked. I felt myself stop when he said my name. It felt so foreign, hearing it, and made me think twice if it even were my name.  
“Cypress?”  
“Uh, gin, please.”  
“Of course,” he promptly said, pouring the drinks.  
“Come, sit,” Carl offered as he wheeled himself to the dining room table. I accepted his offer, thanking Markus as he gave me my drink. Swirling it, I debated if I really wanted to drink it, but figured it would be rude to not after he had poured it. Alcohol wasn't cheap.  
So I drank it, cringing just a bit as it stung my throat.  
Carl chuckled.  
“It gets easier as you get older. You almost like it.”  
He sipped his own drink thoughtfully, then began to talk, Markus now standing next to him.  
“So, art. I figured you wouldn't be at the gallery if you didn't have some kind of interest in art. Most normal people see it as a waste of time. What kind of art do you do?”  
“I...paint, like you. Sometimes mess with charcoal, but paint.”  
“When did you start?”  
I shrugged, another drink of the bitter alcohol.  
“Young. The parents, you know, didn't support it much. No money in it. A dead-end hobby. But, I kept doing it.”  
“Were they right?”  
I blinked at him. What was that supposed to mean?  
“I...don't know? I'm not making any money from it right now.”  
“And why is that?”  
The questions had quickly made me uncomfortable, but I attempted to be stoic and answered, trying to show some sort of backbone.  
“I don't know,” I repeated. “I just...don't make any money.”  
“Would you want to make money on it?”  
“Well...I don't know. When I did make money on it, which was rare, I felt...stressed? Obligated? I lost some joy in it. Burnout. So maybe not.”  
Was that true? Was I just trying to give him an answer I thought he wanted? Money was great. Money paid the bills. But even so, when I thought on the few times I had been paid for my art, it was stressing. Obligation. Deadlines.  
Carl nodded.  
“Markus, do you care to get me another drink?” Carl asked.  
“Of course,” he obliged, taking the glass back to the alcohol cart.  
“What do you do now?”  
I inhaled, waving my hands in front of me.  
“I...was a secretary. But uh, lost the job to an android.”  
“How does that make you feel?”  
This was turning into an interrogation that I didn't really understand. What was his goal? Why was he so interested?  
“I...guess this...is the future?”  
He stared at me, obviously wanting more information. I noticed now Markus was staring at me, setting Carl's glass back on the table, though he had no readable expression like Carl.  
“It...is what it is.”  
“Are you angry?”  
“I was. But not now. Just trying to move on.”  
Carl nodded, drinking, sighing. There was a heavy silence for some time.  
“People don't like androids, but why? They're replacing humans,” he began. He wheeled himself away from he table and began to take himself around the room, perusing the many decorations. Markus did not move.  
“They don't require payment. They don't require respect. They don't need food or sleep. They're truly above humans. Yet, humans hate them.”  
At a chess table, Carl lifted a piece and moved it, though I couldn't see which one.  
“That's _why_ they hate them, though. They're better. Humans are jealous. Instead of respecting what the future has done for us – the perfect servant, the perfect being – they despise it. They try to...stop the march of progress with violence and hatred.”  
Carl again sighed, taking himself to his bookshelf. Markus stood at the table, still looking at me, still bothering me. This had gotten out of hand and was not what I had intended. What had I truly thought would happen, coming to the house of a strange, eccentric old man? Was he crazy, or did he have some sort of truth to his words? I was unsure, just as with most things.  
“Soon, they will learn, and they'll learn harshly. They can't stop the future. It will happen, with or without them.”  
Wheeling up next to me, Carl looked at me with newfound interest.  
“What do you think?”  
I had to wonder on that for a minute. Even having lost my job to an android, he was right. I lost my job to it because it was better. That was how the world worked. If you didn't keep up, you were left behind. And, as it was, I was left behind.  
“You're right,” I quipped. And he was.  
He nodded, lost to himself.  
Who _was_ this man? I could tell he had years of stories that would take a long time to learn, and surprisingly, I found myself wanting to learn them. He had irked me at first, with his questions that seemed to have no point. But I realized he had legitimate interest in me as a person, for whatever reason.  
“Would you like some work?”  
I tilted my head.  
“I...suppose?”  
Carl took a deep breath.  
“As Markus and I grow busier, it's harder to keep this place clean. Would you be interested in coming twice a week to clean up? I'll pay you fair.”  
I opened my mouth to talk, but wasn't sure what to say at first.  
“The...house looks...clean. I don't think you need me?”  
“Would you like the work or not?” he asked, a bit more stern.  
I shrugged, then nodded.  
“Sure.”  
What the Hell was I doing? What had the day become?  
“Great. When can you start.”  
“Is...Monday okay?”  
It was Thursday now. That was time to gather myself.  
“Sure.”  
“G...reat?”  
“I'm sure Markus will appreciate the free time,” Carl teased, smiling at his android. Markus smiled back.  
“You're too nice, Carl.”  
Carl waved his hand.  
“It's just more time for you to cook for me,” Carl teased.  
“Of course,” Markus maintained, placing his arms behind his back. He seemed proud when Carl talked to him.  
“Thanks?” I said to Carl, like a question, but what was there to question?  
“Of course. You can arrive when best works for you, and Markus will see you in if I'm not available. He'll tell you what to do. If that sounds good, I will see you then, Cypress.”  
I said my farewell to them both and took the bus home. I came to the middle of my dead street, my yard overgrown, seeing the dilapidated home in the suburbs. The walls were dark gray, but they used to be a beautiful white. Since inheriting the house, I hadn't taken proper care of it, and each day the wood rotted was another ounce of guilt.  
The city glowed in the distance, and I thought of all the fun and life it had. A life I wasn't a part of and likely never would be. It depressed me.  
I thought of the night clubs, and the galleries and the restaurants and all the socializing that was so natural. While people thrived, I sat at home, wallowing in self pity and hatred. It had never gotten me anywhere, and yet I stayed with it.  
I unlocked the door, the hinges resisting as I opened it. The house was empty and cold, all the lights off. If someone were waiting for me in the darkness, it would not be hard to jump me. But, I flicked the lights on, and the true vastness of the emptiness hit me.  
It was home, though, and there was a comfort to it after the fast-paced, uncertainty of the day. What had happened? How had I gotten a job in just the matter of less than an hour? I went to a sex club, ready to fuck a robot, only to back out from guilt. It seemed almost unreal, pre-planned.  
I tried not to think on it much, sitting on the couch and watching the news as they displayed the unemployment rates. An all time high for the country.  
The future was now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I hope to have more soon. <3


End file.
